Before You Were Gone

by Sheila Bugler

  ‘Actually,’ Dee said. ‘I’m in London at the moment. I was wondering if you’d like to meet up. There’s something I want to run past you.’

  ‘You know I quit working?’

  ‘I quit myself a few years ago,’ Dee said. ‘Remember?’

  He laughed, but it rapidly turned into a cough that went on for the best part of half a minute.

  ‘If you quit,’ Leonard said eventually, ‘how come I keep seeing your bloody name and photo every time I open a newspaper these days?’

  ‘You know what they say,’ Dee said. ‘Once a hack, always a hack.’

  ‘You telling me you want to talk to me about a story?’ Leonard said.

  ‘Maybe,’ Dee said. ‘What do you say?’

  She had to wait for his answer while he broke off to cough some more.

  ‘Can’t shake this bloody cough,’ he said. ‘Doctor told me it would get better if I gave up the fags, but she’s a fool. It’s got worse since I stopped.’

  ‘You stopped smoking?’ Dee was impressed. The only time she’d seen Leonard without a cigarette in his mouth was during his girlfriend’s funeral. Even then, he’d lit one up the moment the service ended.

  ‘I always promised Roxanne I’d stop,’ he said. ‘Never kept the promise while she was alive. The least I can do is keep it now. Just hope she’s watching over me so she knows I did it eventually.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Dee said.

  ‘Maybe. Fags and booze were two of the few pleasures I had left. Now it’s just the booze. Been drinking like a bastard since I gave up the fags. Can’t seem to help myself. Speaking of which, you said something about buying me a pint?’

  ‘If you can spare me some time?’

  ‘Time’s all I’ve got these days, love. Too much of it. Just tell me where and when, and I’ll be there.’

  * * *

  After checking out of her room, Dee spent the morning in the hotel lobby, working on her book. By early afternoon, she’d achieved her daily word count and was ready for a break. Which was good because she was meeting Leonard at the Town of Ramsgate in just under an hour. Gathering up her bags, Dee left the hotel and allowed one of the uniformed doormen to help her into a waiting taxi.

  There was a different person working behind the bar today, a woman in her mid-twenties with multiple piercings and short hair dyed bright blue. Dee ordered a glass of white wine for herself and a pint of London Pride for Leonard.

  It was too early for the post-work drinkers, and the woman behind the bar seemed more than happy to chat.

  ‘How long have you been in the UK?’ Dee asked, picking up on her strong Australian accent.

  ‘Couple of months,’ the woman said. ‘Saving to continue my travels. Another nine months and then I’m back home to Oz. I finished uni last summer and haven’t been able to work out what to do with the rest of my life. So I’ve done the classic Aussie thing of travelling while I get my head sorted.’

  ‘And is it sorted?’ Dee said.

  The girl grinned.

  ‘Not by a long shot. All I want to do when I go back is save so I can do more travelling.’

  ‘How long have you worked here?’ Dee asked.

  ‘Ever since I arrived in the UK. Nick – that’s the landlord – is a friend of a mate of mine back home. Nick was looking for someone to help out during the summer months, so here I am. I got lucky, I guess.’

  ‘I’ve never been to Australia, but it’s definitely on my bucket list.’ Dee took a sip of her drink. ‘Decent wine. My name’s Dee, by the way.’

  ‘Josie,’ the woman said. ‘Good to meet ya, Dee.’

  ‘I think I may have met Nick,’ Dee said. ‘Was he working here yesterday afternoon?’

  ‘Tall, lanky bloke with glasses?’

  Dee nodded. ‘That’s him, yeah. Was that his girlfriend working here with him?’

  ‘Girlfriend?’ Josie laughed. ‘Not sure his husband would be too happy to hear you thought that!’

  ‘My mistake.’ Dee smiled. ‘They seemed to know each other quite well. I guess I just assumed…’

  She trailed off, hoping the girl would finish her sentence for her. She wasn’t disappointed.

  ‘Could have been Annie,’ Josie said. ‘And you’re right to pick up on the vibe between those two. They go way back. Friends from school, I think.’

  The pub door swung open and Leonard appeared. Dee barely recognised him. He’d always been a thin man, but he’d lost so much weight since she’d last seen him, he was practically a skeleton. When he greeted her with a hug, it was like being embraced by a corpse.

  ‘Bloody hell, Leonard. I thought people put on weight when they stopped smoking.’

  ‘Food’s overrated,’ Leonard said. ‘See you’ve already got my order in. Thanks for that.’ He took the pint glass and lifted it to his lips, doing his best not to spill any before it reached his mouth. Not an easy task with a badly shaking hand. Thankfully, the shaking abated after a few more sips of beer.

  Watching him, Dee felt a pang of guilt. She knew what loneliness and grief could do to a person. She should have made more of an effort to stay in touch with Leonard.

  ‘Decent boozer,’ he said, finally relinquishing his hold on the pint glass and setting it down on the bar. ‘I used to come here a lot back in the day. Had a few mates working for The Times. This was their local after Murdoch moved them all to Wapping. Come to think of it, isn’t there a beer garden out the back? Any chance we could sit out there? I could do with a bit of sunshine.’

  They found a table outside and, once they were settled, Dee got down to the real reason she’d got in touch.

  ‘I see Roxanne everywhere I go, you know,’ Leonard said, when she’d finished speaking. ‘It’s bloody killing me, truth be told. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve walked into a pub or a supermarket and thought I’ve seen her. Day before yesterday, I saw a woman at a bus stop. I was so sure she was Roxie, I kept going back, trying to pluck up the courage to speak to her. Only it wasn’t her. Of course it wasn’t her. It never is, because how could it be? She’s dead. But even though I know that, it doesn’t stop me seeing her all the time. It’s torture.’

  ‘I remember the same thing after both my parents died,’ Dee said. ‘It’s like there’s a part of our minds that refuses to accept what we already know to be true.’

  ‘So if you know that already, what the hell are we doing here today?’

  ‘I know the woman can’t be Kitty,’ Dee said. ‘Obviously. But there’s something not right about her. Yesterday, as soon as I tried to find out who she was, she disappeared. And when I asked the barman about her, he got quite aggressive.’

  ‘So bloody what?’ Leonard said. ‘People have all sorts of reasons for not wanting strangers sticking their noses into their private lives. Maybe this woman’s got an abusive ex-partner, or she’s got a criminal record, or she’s one of those Instagram influencers who don’t like face-to-face contact. Could be all sorts of reasons she didn’t want you asking questions about her.’

  ‘There’s something else,’ Dee said. ‘Emer sent me some information about another girl. Her name’s Lucy Ryan. According to Emer, Lucy and Kitty were best friends.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Lucy is the real reason I can’t let this go,’ Dee said.

  ‘Go on, then.’

  She’d sat up late yesterday evening, reading all the stories about Lucy Ryan. The more she read, the more she knew there was something here. She wasn’t sure, yet, what it was. But her gut instinct told her there was a story here. And if Dee had learned one thing in all her years as a journalist, it was to never ignore that instinct.

  ‘Lucy Ryan came from the same town in Ireland as Kitty Doran,’ Dee said. ‘Ballincarraig. She disappeared in 1997, three weeks before Kitty drowned. There was a lot of press speculation at the time that Lucy’s father had killed her and disposed of her body, but he was never charged with anything. Lucy’s body was never recovered and, even now, no one knows
what happened to her.’

  ‘And you say this kid and Kitty were pals?’

  ‘Best friends, apparently.’

  ‘Could be a coincidence,’ Leonard said.

  ‘Two girls, friends, from the same small town, both gone within a few weeks of each? One missing. One presumed dead, although her body was never found. Coincidence? Maybe. My ex-husband, Billy, he used to say that coincidences are just a pattern we can’t see.’

  ‘Still doesn’t mean the woman working in this pub is your dead cousin.’

  Dee looked at the river. So much life out there. So much death too. She wondered how many people had drowned in the Thames over the years, disappearing into its murky depths and losing their lives just like Kitty.

  ‘Penny for them,’ Leonard said.

  ‘Sorry.’ Dee smiled. ‘Lost in my memories.’

  ‘Tell you what.’ Leonard held up his empty pint. ‘How about you get me another one of these and then we can decide what we’re going to do.’

  ‘You mean you’ll help me?’

  ‘I can’t see the harm,’ Leonard said. ‘It’s not as if I’ve got much else to occupy myself these days. Besides, I get the impression you’re not going to let this one go, are you?’

  ‘Emer’s my dad’s niece,’ Dee said. ‘The one remaining connection I have with him. I want to help her. Even if it turns out to be nothing…’

  ‘Which it will.’

  ‘I know. But I have to do something. I’m scared if I don’t do this for her, she won’t want to see me again. I don’t want to lose her before I have the chance to get to know her.’

  Six

  Two glasses of wine and several pints later, they had a plan. Leonard was going to start visiting the pub a few times a week, ingratiating himself with the bar staff and finding out what he could about Annie.

  ‘I doubt I’ll find anything interesting,’ he told Dee, ‘but if you think she’s worth investigating, that’s good enough for me. And if a bit of digging helps your cousin to finally accept her sister’s dead, then all the better.’

  He finished what was left in his pint glass.

  ‘All right, Dee. Lovely as this has been, I’ve got plans for the rest of the day. I need to be heading off.’

  By now, Dee was feeling decidedly woozy. Wine in the afternoon was never a good idea. After saying goodbye to Leonard at Wapping station, she decided to walk to London Bridge station, where she could catch a train to Eastbourne.

  With her rucksack on her back, she headed west, following the river as it wound its way through the city. She called Emer along the way to give her an update.

  ‘You really think it could be her?’ Emer asked.

  ‘No,’ Dee said. ‘I’m sorry to sound so blunt, but I think you need to prepare yourself for that.’

  ‘If that’s what you think, why bother helping?’

  ‘Because I told you yesterday that I would. So that’s what I’m going to do. I know how important this is to you.’

  ‘Thanks, Dee. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure,’ Dee said. ‘Actually, I was wondering if you fancy meeting for a quick coffee?’

  ‘Not now,’ Emer said. ‘Sorry. First day in my new job. I’m already crazy busy.’

  ‘Where are you working?’

  ‘The City,’ Emer said. ‘Isn’t that what you guys call your financial district?’

  ‘That’s where I am right now,’ Dee said. In fact, she was just south of the City, but she knew it was only a short walk from the river to the City of London with its narrow streets and glass and concrete buildings rising up to meet the clear blue sky. ‘I’m happy to hang around until you’re finished? It would be lovely to see you before I go back to Eastbourne.’

  ‘I’ll be working really late,’ Emer said. ‘It’s always like this on short-term contracts. I could be here for another six hours. That’s why I need you, Dee. I’m going to be working flat out. How about I give you a ring tomorrow and maybe we can sort something out the next time you’re in London?’

  ‘Okay.’ Dee was disappointed, but told herself it was to be expected. Today was, after all, Emer’s first day in her new job. She was probably doing all she could to prove herself. ‘And hopefully you can come down to Eastbourne soon. My house is right on the beach. If the weather stays like this you’ll be able to swim in the sea.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ Emer said. ‘Sorry, Dee. I really have to go. Catch you soon, yeah?’

  Dee had planned to spend the time on the train getting some writing done. After a period when she couldn’t get any work, her career was taking off again. A recent story she’d written, exploring the links between two murders sixty years apart, had been picked up by one of the national papers and she’d barely paused for breath since. Alongside regular writing jobs, she’d also been busy doing interviews for radio and TV. She’d signed the publishing deal and her agent was also in talks with a radio production company to do a six-part series about the two victims.

  Suddenly, everyone seemed interested in what Dee had to say. It was exhilarating to be in demand again, and she wanted to make the most of it. The sudden upsurge in work couldn’t have come at a better time. It had kept her from slipping into the dark place she’d been in after she’d first moved back to Eastbourne. Most importantly, it had kept her mind off Ed Mitchell and their recent, failed relationship.

  But this evening, as the train left the city and took her through the rolling green Sussex countryside, Dee couldn’t focus on work. Her mind kept going back to the two little girls in the photo Emer had sent her. Opening Facebook, Dee clicked on Emer’s profile, but there were almost no posts. Not surprising, Dee supposed. Given Emer’s age – around thirty – she probably preferred other social media platforms.

  Shutting down Facebook, Dee opened the Word document she’d created the previous day. Here, she’d made notes based on everything Emer had told her about her sister’s disappearance. Early on in her career, Dee had learned to always take notes, even for stories she might never write. Because you never knew when something you thought wasn’t a story might suddenly become one. Using these notes now, she opened her internet browser and typed in ‘Lahinch’ ‘1997’ and ‘Kitty Doran’. Then she sat back and started reading.

  On the morning of Sunday 27 July 1997, Ursula Doran took her two daughters, Kitty and Emer, to the beach. Mrs Doran and her daughters were on holiday, staying at the Aberdeen Arms Hotel in the seaside town of Lahinch in Co. Clare. The girls’ father hadn’t come on holiday with the family. He’d stayed behind to work, and had planned to join them later.

  Rather than go to the main beach, Mrs Doran took her daughters to a quieter stretch of beach, near the estuary where the river Inagh flowed into the sea. She claimed she’d chosen this location because it was less busy. What she didn’t realise, she said, was that the currents in the water here, where the river met the sea, were treacherous. Like many other holidaymakers before and since, she’d ignored the signs warning people not to swim and had decided this was the perfect place to spend the morning.

  While Mrs Doran settled down to read a stack of magazines, her daughters started building sandcastles. At some point during the morning, the sisters had an argument and Kitty went for a walk, leaving Emer to play by herself. By the time Mrs Doran went looking for her daughter, she had disappeared.

  Two days after Kitty disappeared, the shorts she’d been wearing were washed up on a beach six miles further along the coast. Despite an extensive search that went on for weeks, her body was never recovered. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence, apparently. The unpredictable nature of the currents made it a difficult – sometimes impossible – task to work out where a body might end up. There was no mention, in any of the articles that Dee read, about Emer’s potential sighting of her sister later that same evening.

  According to Emer, her parents had separated shortly after Kitty’s death. Hardly surprising, Dee thought. A tragedy like that would put unbearable pressure on a relat
ionship. Even so, it was strange Eamon Doran hadn’t kept in touch with his remaining daughter after he left. Dee made a note to ask Emer about this the next time they spoke.

  By the time the train was pulling into Eastbourne, Dee had gathered as much information as she could on the events surrounding Kitty Doran’s disappearance that summer’s morning twenty-three years ago.

  Outside the station, as she scrolled through her phone while she queued up for a taxi, Dee noticed she had a new voicemail. The mobile signal was intermittent on the journey from London and she often missed calls when travelling on that route.

  She dialled her voicemail and listened to the message:

  ‘Dee? It’s me. Hope you’re having a lovely time in London. There’s something I need to speak to you about. Any chance I could pop over tomorrow morning for a coffee and a chat?’

  Dee’s spirits plummeted as she listened to the message again. The caller was her neighbour, Ella. From the tense tone of Ella’s voice, it was clear that whatever she wanted to tell Dee, it wasn’t going to be good news. For the last six months, Ella’s partner, Tom, had been dropping increasingly frequent hints about leaving Eastbourne and moving back to Ireland, where his family lived. Dee had done her best to ignore the hints, unable to contemplate a life without Ella, Tom and their son Jake. Now, she knew with a dark certainty that the moment had finally come. They were leaving. And the truth was, Dee didn’t know how she would be able to cope when Ella told her that’s what they’d decided.

  Seven

  Two months earlier

  The claustrophobic atmosphere in the house was becoming unbearable. Ursula’s suffocating personality shaped every conversation, every nuanced exchange that took place under her ever watchful eyes. It was exhausting and, Emer was pretty sure, emotionally damaging. She didn’t know how Robert put up with it. Yet, somehow, her stepfather never seemed bothered by his wife’s excesses. He was too besotted, even after twenty years of marriage, to see her as anything but perfect.

  Nikki had never liked coming here. She’d quickly decided that Emer’s mother was toxic and, after her first few visits to Ballincarraig, Nikki had refused to come back. She could never understand the ties that bound Emer to Ursula. The guilt that made it impossible for Emer to break free of her mother’s oppressive personality.